In A World
by Anonymoustache
Summary: Because no matter what universe you're in, true love will last forever. 30 Day AU Challenge, Johnlock.
1. Es Tevi Mīlu

A/N; Well, here we are again :3

Rainy and I agreed that we needed to do another 30 day challenge, and who can resist a good AU fic? I'm hoping this will help me get back in the groove of writing and I'll be able to work more on my unfinished fics that I've left you all hanging on .

Anyways, first day's Fantasy! This one's a dragon rider au kinda thing…here's the playlist I listened to while writing it;  /aynarra/come-away-with-me-to-the-fantasy-world

Sherlock's dragon; Aeol, John's dragon; Eoel.

All Italic words are Latvian, which I am using as the dragon riders' language :3 Virtual cookies to anyone who knows what they mean without using a translator!

To Rainy…love you, my dear. I'm so glad you've suggested this…I'm having fun already XD

Read and review, loves! :D

Ta,

Anonymoustache

* * *

"Sherlock, your left!"

Sherlock swerves as a sharp black blade-like weapon whizzes past his head. Aeol yowls as the wind and rain throw them off course. Sherlock rubs the dragon's neck as they fly through the violent gale, trying to calm him.

Flying next to him, John grins. "You okay?"

Sherlock grins back and yells through the howling of the wind, "Never better!"

Another blade goes flying past Sherlock's head, skimming his curls. He looks back at the griffins trailing them, each being urged onward by a black-cloaked warrior of darkness.

Sherlock yells, "They're getting closer!"

John looks back as well, then yells, "Separate! There!" He points to an arch of weathering rock, then swerves to the side suddenly, driving Eoel up and away. The rain pours down as Sherlock turns sharply in the opposite direction, veering underneath the arch.

The other side is foggy, and Sherlock loses sight of where John went in the haze, rain blurring his vision. The griffins' shrill cawing echoes in his ears as he drives Aeol up and away.

* * *

After an hour, Sherlock seems to have lost the griffins and their warriors, thankfully…but John is nowhere in sight.

The rain begins to lessen, fog fading, and Sherlock brings Aeol in for a landing on a small patch of grass. Once he's there, he hops off and pulls his skyscope out of the belt on his tunic. He extends it and peers all around, trying to locate John or Eoel. He finds neither.

Sherlock begins to worry.

"John…" he murmurs. He sits down beside Aeol, exhausted, and gently rubs the scales on his head. Aeol makes a low rumbling sound and pushes his head into Sherlock's hand.

The sun shines weakly on the small patch of grass on Sherlock's cliff. The dark storm clouds above have rolled to the east, leaving him and Aeol behind.

He only hopes they haven't taken John with them.

* * *

"_Iet_, Eoel!"

John feels the wind whipping violently at his face as he executes a sharp turn. He looks back to see the griffins trailing him, cawing shrilly as they close in. He just can't seem to shake them.

Another metal blade whirs past his face, too close for comfort. He turns Eoel sharply to the right, spiraling underneath a rock arch.

John looks back and sees through the haze of rain and fog that the griffins are gone. "Yes!"

He looks back around just in time to see a griffin flying straight for them. Eoel jerks out of the way as the griffin caws and viciously swipes a claw, catching John right across the chest.

John lets out a hoarse yell and falls from Eoel's back as the world goes black.

* * *

Aeol's ears perk up as a distant yell echoes through the fog. Sherlock stiffens.

One of the warriors of darkness…or John?

Sherlock can't risk not knowing.

He jumps up and leaps onto Aeol's back, yelling, "Aeol, _uz augšu_!"

Aeol takes off quickly, great leathery wings flapping as they rise into the fog. Sherlock guides him away from the great rock arch and into the fog. As they glide silently, Sherlock searches the ground below, bringing Aeol down a bit in order to see through the fog. John is nowhere to be found.

Suddenly, a low, mournful dragon's yowl echoes through the fog. The sound of leathery wings beating reverberates in the air around them.

Sherlock tugs Aeol up and around, shouting, "Eoel! _Nāc_!"

Eoel turns in his flight and beats his wings to come up to Sherlock, who rubs his scales gently.

"Where's John?" he whispers. "Where's your _kapteinis_?"

Eoel nuzzles Sherlock's hand, then turns and glides back the way he came. Sherlock veers Aeol around and follows him, worry filling his chest.

Suddenly, near a smaller rock arch Eoel dives down, disappearing into the fog without warning. Sherlock tugs Aeol down to follow, apprehensive of what he might find.

Below the layer of mist, Eoel is perched on the sharp side of a treacherous rock cliff and is letting out a long, mournful yowl. John is dangling off the edge of the cliff. His white tunic is stained with blood, to Sherlock's horror.

Sherlock brings Aeol to hover beside the cliff and he gently scoops John up into his lap, then says in a shaky voice, "Aeol, Eoel, _iet lai upes_!"

* * *

Sherlock lands Aeol and Eoel outside the forest of a grassy valley, beside a river. He leaps off Aeol's back and carries John to the river, panic coursing through him.

"John, John, John…" he murmurs, like an oath, as he rips off John's bloodstained tunic.

There's a long, dark red cut across John's chest, blood still dripping from it. Sherlock curses. "_Sūdi_!" He yanks a small, deep blue bag off of his belt and pulls a roll of cloth out of it, wetting it in the stream and dabbing John's wound.

John's eyes fly open with a yell. "_Jēzus_!"

Sherlock winces. "Sorry, _mīlu_. I'm trying to get it clean."

John grins weakly and says, "Thought I was the healer in this relationship."

Sherlock gives him a tense smile and rips his old tunic into strips. "You're injured." He wraps the strips around John's chest and yanks them tight.

John yelps. "Not so tight, _dumjš_! You're going to cut off my circulation!"

Sherlock pulls back, biting his lip. "Sorry!"

John sees the look on his face and, after a few moments, sighs and relaxes back. "No, my fault. I'm sorry. You're only trying to help."

Sherlock finishes tying the strips around him, then sits back and stares at him, something strange in his eyes.

John smiles weakly. "Sherlock…"

Suddenly, Sherlock leans forward and wraps John in a tight hug, pressing his nose to John's short blonde hair. He whispers in a fierce voice, "Never, ever do that to me again. Do you understand?"

John whispers back, "Yes. I'm sorry."

Sherlock whispers in a terrified voice. "I looked back and you weren't there. I don't ever want to have to look back and not see you again, okay?"

John pulls back and kisses him gently, then looks him right in the eyes and says quietly, "Okay."

Sherlock pulls him back in, wrapping his arms around him, and whispers with tears in his eyes, "I love you."

John smiles and closes his eyes. "I love you too."


	2. Messing With Sherlock

A/N; Second's High School! And news flash: I'm American. So excuse my stupid Americanisms. I do know that there's a ton of fuck ups in this…so just ignore them XP

Also, I apologize for the shortness…our phone and internet service blinked for part of this evening (which, of course, made me panic and scream bad words that I am now grounded for XP). However, I did get it done, and while I don't feel that it's my best I hope it's passable :D

Ta,

Anonymoustache

* * *

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock turns his head to see John running towards him, a grin covering his reddish face. He's wearing a sweaty rugby jersey and a pair of shorts. He slows to a walk when he catches up and speaks in a slightly shy voice.

"Can I walk with you?"

Sherlock nods, going back to his book about fungi.

John walks beside him silently for a bit, then says, "Hey, Sherlock…"

Sherlock keeps reading.

John taps his book, grinning. "Hey! Earth to Sherlock!"

Sherlock looks up, eyes wide. "What?"

John grins. "Do you ever hear anything I say?"

Sherlock blushes and closes his book. "Occasionally."

John rolls his eyes, then says with a smile, "Can we stop by the locker room so I can take off these sweaty clothes?" He throws Sherlock an award-winning grin and gestures to the building next to them.

Sherlock's skin goes pink at his words and his voice goes up an octave. "Um…yeah. Sure. I guess. Yeah. That's fine…"

John grins. "Great!" He ducks through the doorway. After a moment, Sherlock follows his boyfriend nervously.

John is already stripping off his shirt, back to Sherlock. "Did you catch what Snetson said today about a test in Bio?

Sherlock stares at John's tan back in slight shock, not hearing him.

John frowns and turns around. "Sher?"

Sherlock shakes his head. "What?"

John raises an eyebrow.

"Oh…" Sherlock says, remembering the question. "Yes. There's going to be a test next Wednesday and anyone who doesn't pass will be cleaning out the dissection pans."

John makes a face as he pulls off his shorts and walks into the shower. "Bleah. I better study."

Sherlock stares open-mouthed as he turns on the shower. John picks up the soap, then looks at him, raising an eyebrow. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock shuts his mouth quickly. "Um. Sorry. I'll just…" He opens his book again and pretends to read. John grins and goes back to washing as the dark-haired boy watches surreptitiously from his seat on the bench.

After a few minutes, John turns off the shower and grabs a towel, drying off as he walks out. He wraps it around his waist and walks over to Sherlock. "Whatcha reading?"

Sherlock looks up and his mouth drops open as he takes in John's tan, muscular chest, blonde hair still glistening with water droplets. "Uhhh…"

John frowns. "Aren't you usually more articulate?"

Sherlock nods as he stares.

John shrugs and grabs his clothes, picking up a pair of pants as he turns around and drops his towel, bending over to pull the pants on.

Sherlock's eyes are the size of dinner plates as he watches John pull on his clothes.

Once he's done, John grins and runs a hand through his messy blonde hair. "Ready to head out?"

Sherlock nods, dumbfounded, and stands up, shutting his book.

John gestures to the door and makes a fancy hand gesture. "After you, Sherlock."

Sherlock smiles awkwardly and walks out the door. Suddenly, to his shock and surprise (and, he'll admit later, slight arousal) John slaps his arse.

Sherlock jumps and turns to look at John, who just grins and says, "Are we going or not?"

Sherlock blushes and heads out quickly, trying to hide his rather obvious arousal as John watches.

John follows him, grinning. He loves messing with Sherlock.


	3. For Now

_A/N; Well, hello again! :3_

_I am really sorry for the slight time gap…I've had some personal (read: fucked up life shit) lately that I needed to sort out, so if I disappear again that's why. I won't go into detail (no one wants to hear tales of my sorry existence…you're here for the story, not me XP) but just know that I'm writing every extra minute that I have :3_

_The girl with the suicide curls is actually a very special friend of mine….i told her I was writing this and she wanted to be in it. If you're reading this, love ya, Herpie ;D_

_Reviews and follows and favourites are chocolate in word form. Also, love._

_Ta,_

_Nonnymoose (yes, Rainy, I'm keepin' it ;D)_

* * *

Sherlock straightens his tie and nervously hooks a finger in his braces as the train pulls into the station. The sky is blurry and grey. However, it does little in the way of dampening his elated mood.

_I'm going to see John again._

Men in uniform begin to file off the train, jostling and speaking in loud, jovial voices, glad to be home. Many are greeted by girlfriends, tears of joy running down the women's faces. Still others are greeted by family.

John will be greeted by Sherlock.

His boyfriend.

Sherlock knows it's not very well accepted, not in this time and place. Not in 1950's Europe. To everyone in the station, he's just a friend coming to greet another friend who has no family or girl.

He watches a couple greet each other. The woman has beautiful brownish-blonde hair, rolled into near-perfect suicide curls, and is wearing what must be her Sunday best. She greets the brown-haired, uniformed man with the air of a long-lost lover, embracing him tightly as he closes his eyes and breathes her in, kissing her neck fondly.

Sherlock watches them with a strange sadness. When John arrives at the station, he won't be greeted with gentle kisses and hugs. They'll stand at least a foot apart, not even touching hands, because they can't tell anyone of their relationship for fear of the results.

Someday, he hopes, they will be accepted.

Sherlock looks around, trying to locate John. The last stragglers are slowly coming off the train, walking out with others.

John is not among them.

Sherlock begins to worry. What if something happened to him? What if he'd been killed and no one had told him?

Suddenly, a door at the opposite end of the train opens, and a familiar tan, sandy-haired man steps out. John's shoulder is heavily bandaged, his face more lined than Sherlock remembers…but John is here, John is finally home from war, and Sherlock couldn't care less what he looks like.

John spots him and grins, haggard face lighting up like a miniature sun. He limps towards him quickly. "Sherlock!"

Sherlock smiles politely, looking around to remind John of where they are. "John. Hello."

John grins and almost goes in to kiss him, but remembers and pulls back, smiling resignedly. "How are you?"

Sherlock points at the bandage on his shoulder. "I think that question would be more appropriately directed at you, actually."

John's smile suddenly slides off his face and his eyes appear haunted. "Later. I just want to go home right now." His hand clenches at his side.

_PTSD. Bad memories of…what?_

Sherlock smiles uneasily. "Sure." He leads him towards the door and they walk through into the main part of the station. Most of the people have cleared out quickly, undoubtedly to take their loved ones home and cherish the fact that they're still with them.

John walks quietly beside Sherlock until he finally can't take it any longer. He looks covertly from side to side, making sure no one's watching. Suddenly, he grabs Sherlock by his blazer sleeve and pulls him quickly into the tiny loo on their left, locking the door after them and hoping no one saw them.

The minute John turns around Sherlock's lips are on his, crushing and desperate. John gives a small, broken-off gasp in surprise and returns it, equally shaky.

Sherlock pulls away after a few minutes, gasping for breath, hands gripping John as though to make sure he's actually real.

They stay like that for what seems like days…just holding each other, placing reassuring touches and soft kisses on each other's skin. Sherlock presses his forehead against John's and wraps his arms gently around him.

"God, I missed you so much."

"Not as much as I missed you."

"False."

"True."

"False!"

"True!"

A pause.

"Difficult bastard."

John grins and says cockily. "Admit it, that's why you love me, you adorable detective." He grins again, though this time there's something lurking behind his gaze…something dark and suspicious, a new memory that's left it's mark on John's very soul.

However, now isn't the time to question what that memory encompasses. For now, Sherlock is just relieved that John came home safe. For now, he just wants to kiss him and hug him and hold him tight and never, ever let him go.

For now, he just wants to love him.


	4. What's The Point

_A/N; Today's Superheroes! Mine's more of a superpower au, but potayto potauto. I'll do my best to catch up so I can actually finish at the last of the month like I planned, but if I don't post it's because finals are the devil. That said, any mistakes or plot holes or idiotbits are completely mine and probably because of said finals._

_This fic…okay, so I started doing RP's with my dearest friend Rainy and I discovered that I have a huge thing for John getting hurt. I don't even know, man. So if you're wondering where the sudden John whump came from…yeah. That's it. _

_FYI, if you're not following Rainy's challenge…doooooo it. Seriously. She is an amazing writer and god, her fics are like chocolate for your brain. Just do it. Do it. *evil eye* DO IT._

_Ay, these finals are frying my brain._

_Ta,_

_Anonymoustache_

* * *

"Shit!"

John stares angrily at the dead end and puts his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. He turns to look at Sherlock. "I thought you said this one went all the way through!"

Sherlock's eyes are wide. "I thought it did!"

Footsteps echo distantly, rough voices shouting ominously.

John turns to Sherlock, eyes determined.

Sherlock knows what he's going to ask. "No. John, absolutely not. I am not leaving you alone to deal with my mistake."

John glares at him. "If you don't, I'll never forgive you."

Sherlock looks at him despondently. Suddenly, the voices come perilously close and shadows fall over the pavement at the beginning of the alley. "Down here!"

John tilts his head and gives Sherlock a steely look. "Do it. Now."

Sherlock takes a deep breath and looks sorrowfully at John. The next moment, he's gone.

"Well, hello there, elusive."

John whirls around to find four big, burly men staring at him. One is standing in the forefront of the group, brandishing a heavy-looking baton and grinning.

He walks forward and goes in a circle around John. "Where's your detective friend? He's the one we _really_ want to see."

John looks at him with an unwavering glare and says in an offhanded voice, "I don't know."

The man abruptly slams the baton into John's ribs with the force of a train. John yells hoarsely and falls backwards onto the ground, grabbing his ribcage in pain.

However, the man isn't done yet. He grabs John by his shirtfront and lifts him up, slamming him violently against the brick wall next to them. His hands slide around John's neck and press hard against his windpipe as John wheezes.

"Where is the detective?" he growls angrily.

John chokes out, "D-don't k-know…"

The man yells in rage and throws John to the ground, then straddles him and begins to punch him repeatedly in the face, breaking his nose and blackening both of his eyes. John yells hoarsely as the man squeezes his broken ribs with his thighs. The man grabs his throat and squeezes his windpipe to quiet him. John's writhing slowly stops as he struggles for air.

The man waits for him to still, then leans down and whispers, "Now. Let's try this once more." He grins and, letting go of John's neck, speaks in a low, dangerous voice. "Where is Sherlock Holmes?"

John coughs as blood spots his lips, then whispers in a cracked, hoarse voice, "He…he left. A minute before you came. Went to…to Scotland Yard." He gasps for breath, throat aching.

The man grins. "Good, good." He punches him hard in his already broken ribs, eliciting another yell.

He stands up and hands his baton to one of the men in his group and grins down at John, who is lying on the ground groaning in pain. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

The group of men turn away and walk down the alley, rain drizzling down from the darkening sky.

After the men have long disappeared from sight, Sherlock reappears and drops down beside John, panicked. "John! Oh my god."

John groans and turns over onto his back, blood dripping from his mouth. His bruised eyes roll back in his head as darkness overtakes him.

Sherlock curses and pulls out his phone, dialing 999 as he wipes the blood gently from John's lips, mumbling, "Hang on, John, please, stay with me…"

An operator answers and Sherlock explains in a shaky voice what happened and where they are, taking John's pulse and gently rubbing his back to help him breathe normally.

The operator says someone will be there in a few minutes and Sherlock hangs up, hands shaking slightly as he pulls John's head into his lap and runs his fingers through his hair in a comforting gesture, even while knowing it's useless since John's passed out. He has to do something, though. Has to feel useful somehow.

He looks up at the dark, rainy sky, crushing guilt weighing inside him.

_What's the point of having invisibility powers when you can't even save the people you love?_


	5. The Cowboy And The Sheriff's Brother

"Come on, Watson, take another one! You're not that much of a lightweight, are you?"

John grins and takes another shot. It's his fourth so far and he has no plans to stop anytime soon.

Suddenly, the door to the bar bangs open and a tall, thin man walks in. He's not a regular, that's for sure…in fact, this is the first time he's been here.

Stamford, John's cattle partner, leans over and whispers, "That's Sherlock Holmes." He snorts slightly. "He's the sheriff's baby brother."

John raises his eyebrows. "Seriously?" He frowns and turns back to his shots. "Looks nothing like the sheriff, really."

The man (Holmes the younger, John reminds himself) has pale, almost translucent skin and a shock of dark curls hanging over his forehead. There's a black and white bandana tied around his neck, above the collar of his dark purple and black plaid. The shirt's tucked into a pair of dark denim jeans above shiny black cowboy boots.

John takes another shot and says, "He certainly likes to play in the dark end of the colour spectrum."

Stamford grins. "That's not the only queer thing about him, if you know what I mean."

John raises his eyebrows again and grins. "Really? You serious?"

Stamford winks at him and takes a shot. "I saw you looking, Watson. Don't deny it."

John grins and raises his glass. "Ta." He sets it down and stands, walking towards Holmes with a decided swagger, dusty brown cowboy boots clacking on the floor.

The man looks up as John approaches. His bright blue eyes narrow and he turns slightly away.

John ignores his snub and drops into a chair across from him, grinning and putting his elbow on the table. "Hey there."

Holmes the younger rolls his eyes and goes to stand up.

John frowns. "What, not even interested?"

He raises his eyebrows and says, "Interested in what? Having to tolerate the company of someone who will spend the next fifteen minutes attempting to impress me with stories of the last cattle drive he went on?"

John's eyes widen and he's silent for a moment. Then, he grins and says, "Well, I'll be sure to let that someone know what he shouldn't talk about then."

Holmes stops dead for a moment, until the corners of his mouth twitch and he slowly sits back down.

John grins and leans back, saying, "I know who you are."

He smiles coolly. "Likewise."

John mock-frowns. "Really? Who told you about me, then?"

"I did."

John rubs his ears. "Come again?"

Holmes smiles triumphantly. "I deduced it."

John raises an eyebrow. "Ah…okay, then."

"I know you're a cowboy who just came off a cattle drive with that man sitting at the bar over there. The drive was approximately thirty miles out of the south end of town, near Gauzer Ranch, perhaps even _for_ them, though I doubt it as you're a freelance cattle driver, not a ranch one. You've got a wound on your left…no, right shoulder from a gunshot during a bandit raid and a psychosomatic limp in your leg from being stepped on by a horse when you were younger. You have a brother whom you used to get along with but you're keeping your distance now because of his drinking problem. He gave you his old saddle and you honestly dislike using it but you keep it because you can't afford anything better. Also, you're bisexual and known quite well for being a…rather _promiscuous_ cowboy."

John sits in stunned silence for a few minutes. Holmes sits there, pale skin flushed, eyes wide and almost…apprehensive.

John suddenly grins and exclaims. "That was incredible! Christ, Holmes…you're brilliant."

Holmes blushes. "Sherlock, please."

John smiles shyly. "Sherlock."

* * *

Over at the bar, Stamford smiles as he watches the two men.

"The cowboy and the sheriff's brother…who would've thought."

He picks up the last shot, downing it in one gulp, and grins.

"They'll be married before our next cattle drive."


	6. The Silence In The Car

"Gimme a replacement, Sherlock!"

Sherlock tosses John some bullets and takes his place at the back window of the car to shoot at the police car following them as they zigzag through the streets. John crawls over the stacks of money from the bank in the back and loads his gun back up as Sherlock shoots out the headlights on the police car.

A couple return bullets whizz through the windows, shattering glass over the both of them, as well as Greg, who's driving.

"Would you two try and keep the fuckin' bullets and glass out of my hair? It's a nightmare trying to drive with death missiles flying 'round your head!" Greg yells, swerving sharply down an alley.

"Righto, boss!" John yells. He joins Sherlock at the window again, just as they turn sharply down a store alley. Men and women scream and dive out of the way as the car careens down the streetfront.

They soon lose the police car in the ensuing chaos. One last bullet smashes through the window of their car and the cops are gone.

John throws his hands in the air, tossing his gun onto one of the money stacks. "Yes! We're home free!"

He turns, only to see Sherlock lying on the seat, pale and trembling, clutching his shoulder as blood seeps through his fingers.

John screams, "Pull over! Stop the car!"

Greg yells, "I can't! You wan'em to catch up?"

John yanks off his suit coat and pulls Sherlock into his lap. Sherlock lets out a horrible cry of pain as John peels away his ruined jacket and pulls his braces down off his shoulders to rip his stained shirt open and examine the wound.

"Come on, stay with me, mate…" John's trembling fingers clean the wound as best he can while Sherlock yells and squirms.

John rips his jacket into strips and gently binds the wound as Sherlock slowly quiets.

After that, there's not much more he can do. He holds Sherlock close as Greg drives, the silence in the car deafening.

* * *

They finally pull over into an old, disused parking garage. John gently carries Sherlock out as Greg locks the car. They both collapse next to it, on the side facing in so they won't be seen or recognized. John rests Sherlock's body against his, supporting him.

Greg sighs as he looks at the sleeping Sherlock. "Well, we knew it was going to happen to one of us sometime."

John nods and looks at the curly haired man leaning against him. "I just wish it had been me instead."

* * *

Several hours later, Sherlock will wake up. John will be overjoyed, of course. He doesn't tell anyone, but he was extremely afraid he wouldn't.

They'll be happy and joke about Sherlock getting in the line of fire and count the money they stole. They'll send Greg to the grocery to get them some food, since nobody recognizes a getaway driver when he's not wearing his mask. While he's gone, they'll kiss and hug and kiss again and do other things that must be done before Greg gets back, as he doesn't yet know about the two of them.

They'll live to rob many more banks, ride in many more getaway cars, and shoot out many more police headlights.

They'll survive.


End file.
